


to write about love

by jaekyu



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Cookies!, Fluff, Frosting!, M/M, Publisher Woozi, Vegan Hoshi!, Writer Wonwoo, cupcakes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekyu/pseuds/jaekyu
Summary: I'm not a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow and decide that I really wanted to write about love - my first poem would be about you.Soonyoung owns a vegan bakery, Wonwoo's a down on his luck author with writer's block and sometimes we find good things in places we aren't even looking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to lian, my partner in crime for this whole thing. couldn't have asked for a better, more understanding person to take this on with! or a more talented person to make some cool stuff for this little thing i wrote. thanks for putting up with me, you were the best
> 
> soonyoung bakery's name ( _toast & jam_) is inspired by the classic and iconic tune jam jam - if you were wondering.

hot and heavy pumpkin pie  
chocolate candy, jesus christ  
ain't nothing please me more than you  
(HOME, edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros)

 

_I want to float next to you. I’m talking like, ten feet above cumulus clouds so no one can ever rain on our parade._  
(rudy francisco)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time the boy comes in it is a Tuesday and he looks very sleepy.

Soonyoung checks the clock on the wall and finds it is 11AM. Soonyoung may have his ridiculous hours as a baker, the kind that force him to be a morning person, but he’s sure most of the rest of the world has started their day by this point.

“Morning,” he says, friendly and sunny. He’s wearing one of the aprons his parents gave him as a gift for opening his bakery ( _Toast & Jam, Vegan & Gluten-Free Baked Goods_, good for you and the animals, just make a right at the Whole Foods on Main Street and look for the pink awning and the cartoon stickers of pastries in the window) and it says _Runs On Bananas_.

“Hey,” The sleepy boy replies. He’s wearing a beanie, tugged down tight around his ears. Soonyoung found it a bit nippy this morning, but he doesn’t think it’s that cold. “Do you sell coffee?”

“Sure do!” Soonyoung replies, “it’s organic and fair-trade too.”

The boy looks at him like he doesn’t quite understand what Soonyoung is saying. He holds the expression for a beat too long, Soonyoung is willing to forgive him for it on account of sleepiness. “Erm,” the boy finally says, snapping out of it and clearing his throat, digging into his pockets and rattling change, “can I get two?”

Soonyoung nods, turning away from the boy to pour two cups of coffee.

“Don’t you ask for names here?” The boy asks when Soonyoung turns back to him, offers him his drinks.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Soonyoung’s mouth quirks up at the corner, playfully teasing, “but you’re the only person here right now. And this isn’t Starbucks.” The boy goes pink, colouring the very top of his cheeks and the parts of his ear Soonyoung can see. “If you want to tell me your name that bad, though, feel free.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean -” The boy starts and stops. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, I’m Wonwoo. I’m being weird because I haven’t slept much.”

“That’s okay,” Soonyoung smiles, “hi Wonwoo, I’m Soonyoung. Do you want to try a muffin?”

 

 

 

The second time the boy - Wonwoo, the second time Wonwoo comes in it’s the next day, and later then the last time. The clocks ticks it’s minutes closer and closer to 2PM and Soonyoung is wiping down tables.

When the bell above the door rings, Soonyoung looks up and he and Wonwoo catch each other’s eye. Soonyoung smiles, standing up straight and tucking his rag into the back pocket of his jeans.

Wonwoo isn’t wearing a beanie today, untamed black hair a mess on his head, looking just as sleepy.

“Nice to have you back,” Soonyoung says. Today, his apron says, _Kale Yeah!_

“Yeah, that muffin you let me have was really good,” Wonwoo laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, “what was it?”

“Lemon raspberry streusel,” Soonyoung beams, “it’s a new recipe I’m perfecting. Haven’t put it on the menu yet,” Soonyoung leans over the front counter, chin balanced in the palm of his hand, “did you like it?”

“Like it?” Wonwoo’s eyes get bigger, light up a little, “it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, thanks,” Soonyoung laughs. “It was vegan, too. Gluten-free,” Soonyoung lifts a hand, starts listing off on his fingers, “dairy-free, egg-free, soy free.”

“You can make it taste that good without all that stuff?” Wonwoo asks. Soonyoung could laugh again - at the genuine curiosity and wonder in Wonwoo’s voice.

Soonyoung barely knows the boy, but his heart beats with fondness for him. Soonyoung maybe wants to know what makes Wonwoo so tired, and how he can help with that. Make him breakfast, have his coffee ready for him in the morning. Soonyoung is a small, up and coming business, and so the customer experience is his biggest asset.

And okay, maybe it’s a little bit more than that. Maybe it’s a little bit to do with the cherry-red tint to Wonwoo’s cute nose.

Maybe.

 

 

 

_Toast & Jam_ is a little out of the way, a little hidden and a little small for the area that it’s in, but Soonyoung likes it that way. He picked the location himself and he loves his tiny little bakery, the kind of place that feels like someone’s sitting room and kitchen as soon as you step into it. He plays soft music, all acoustic riffs and breathy voices, and puts all his tables near the warm sun of the large window.

He loves his pink and turquoise colour scheme, all his cartoon pastry friends with big eyes and bigger smiles, all their tiny speech bubbles that say things like _No Animals Were Harmed In The Making of Your Food!_ or _Ask Us About Ordering Our Cakes_. He loves the dusty tops of all his ovens and every crumb he sweeps up every night.

Sometimes it feels like more trouble than it’s worth. All the hours, the lack of help, the never ending stream of work. Those nights, after he locks the door, Soonyoung will watch the sun set through the large picture window at the front of his store.

And he will remind himself that right now, for all intents and purposes, he’s living his dream.

 

 

 

“Can I ask you something?” Soonyoung says, stacking ginger molasses cookies for his display case. Wonwoo sits at one of the tables, the one right near the front of the counter. He shows up a lot these days, usually with a notebook, some days with a laptop.

“Sure,” Wonwoo says. Right now, his notebook and pen are abandoned on the table in front of him. He’s watching Soonyoung work while he chews through a piece of three seed bread.

“What do you do?” Soonyoung asks. He slides the display tray into it’s case, wipes his hands free of crumbs against his apron. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious what I do. But I don’t know what you do.”

Wonwoo swallows a mouthful of bread, replies, “I’m a writer.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung says lamely. It’s seems obvious, now. Wonwoo’s seemingly non-existent work hours, the constant scribbling in a notebook, typing on a laptop. Soonyoung just figured he worked from home, like in IT or something, but it seems not.

“Yeah, my publisher’s on my ass right now, too,” Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair, making a tight fist in it and tugging a little bit. “He wants a manuscript in four months. I had to talk him up from two.”

Soonyoung unties his apron and drops it over the counter, taking a seat across from Wonwoo at his table. “Is that bad?”

“It is when you have writer’s block,” Wonwoo explains, “my last book - my _first_ book - it did pretty well, better than anyone expected. I haven’t written a follow-up and it’s been - three? four years? Four years. My publisher wants me to get my shit together.”

Soonyoung scrunches up his nose, “he sounds like a jerk.”

Wonwoo scoffs, “he’s alright. He’s tough - but he’s not mean. He’s a good publisher.”

Soonyoung’s eyes drop to Wonwoo’s notebook. It’s closed, so all Soonyoung can read is the _Composition Book_ pressed on the front. It looks well used - the spine is cracked, the pages are frayed and folded. There are a few smudges of ink on the front of it. “Why do you have writer’s block?”

Wonwoo shrugs, “don't know.” Then he leans forward, hands braced on the table between them, and whispers. “Between you and me,” he gestures between himself and Soonyoung, “I think I’m scared I’m gonna write a shitty book.”

 

 

 

Soonyoung eats by himself and thinks of Wonwoo.

He’s made vegetable pot pie and it’s warm and the crust is flaky and soft and after he takes a bite Soonyoung thinks that he understands what Wonwoo is saying. He understands being paralyzed by the fear of your own failure. He understands the unwillingness to try - because if you don’t try you can’t ever fail.

“It’s worth it,” Soonyoung says to Wonwoo the next day. Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow, so Soonyoung continues speaking. “To try and do something you might fail at even if you’re afraid. It’s worth it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He looks at Soonyoung with something in his eyes that Soonyoung can’t decode. Soonyoung offers him a lemon raspberry muffin, a newly added menu item.

 

 

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Wonwoo starts. It’s chilly today but he and Soonyoung have elected to have lunch outside today. Soonyoung made them sandwiches (Wonwoo supplies his own “real” cheese but allows Soonyoung to make it with only imitation meat products) while Wonwoo sets up one of Soonyoung’s outdoor table. “But how does someone as young as you come in possession of a bakery? Seems like an old person thing.”

Soonyoung kicks Wonwoo’s shin under the table. Wonwoo chokes on his bite of sandwich. “I didn’t go to culinary school for my profession to be called ‘an old person thing’, Wonwoo.” The anger in Soonyoung’s voice is all fake, all teasing. Because it’s easy to get Wonwoo going and, more importantly, it’s fun.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Wonwoo soothes, rubbing at his shin, “you know I didn’t.”

Soonyoung hums like he’s considering Wonwoo’s words, chewing a bite of his sandwich. He drops the act after he swallows. “To answer your question,” Soonyoung says instead, “my parents bought me my bakery.”

“Your parents?”

Soonyoung nods. “After I graduated culinary school,” he explains, “the restaurant scene - I don’t know, it wasn’t my thing. I told my parents it was my dream to own a bakery and I think they saw how much working as a sous-chef was making me unhappy. So they got together with my grandparents and they told me to pick a place to set up.” Soonyoung looks up at his garishly pink awning, “picked this place. The rest is history.”

Soonyoung doesn’t tell Wonwoo that the circumstances with which he acquired his bakery make him nervous. His family gave him his dreams, no strings attached, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the weight of his parents gift to him, their sacrifice, every day he’s inside of his shop. Every time he looks at the books and doesn’t see the number he wants to see. Every time he closes the shop door and locks it and thinks, maybe, they’ll be a day where he does that for the very last time.

Soonyoung doesn’t tell Wonwoo any of this. Just chews another bite of his sandwich. He told himself a long time ago that success was worth the risk.

 

 

 

Wonwoo kisses Soonyoung. When he does he tastes sweet.

Soonyoung had been laughing. Soonyoung had been laughing with stray fleck of flour left on his apron. An apron that said _Love Animals, Eat Vegetables_. And after that Soonyoung will not remember much. He will not remember what he had been laughing at, if it was Wonwoo trying to be funny, and if it was if Wonwoo had actually succeeded or not. Soonyoung will forget all of that. His brain will narrow this moment down to the press of Wonwoo’s lips to his cheek, then his mouth.

“Oh,” Soonyoung says when Wonwoo pulls away, “and here I thought you were using me for my pastries.”

Wonwoo laughs out of the corner of his mouth. Soonyoung catches the sleeve of his shirt and pulls him closer, kisses him again.

 

 

 

Soonyoung lets Wonwoo come back into the kitchen.

“Nothing lecherous will happen,” Soonyoung warns before he does. He has his arms outstretched and palms against Wonwoo’s chest, holding him just shy of crossing through the doorway into the kitchen. “If the health unit finds out about that sort of thing - well, that’s how places get shut down.”

Wonwoo raises his hands and places one over his heart. “I swear,” he says, “but also, I’m a little offended.”

Soonyoung is cooking two dozen cinnamon rolls when he lets Wonwoo in, and there’s a bowl of frosting warming to room temperature on the counter for optimal spreading. Wonwoo looks around, standing in the doorway, and the light from the front of house frames his body. Something about the combination - the smell of baking, Wonwoo, the soft light - it all comes together and feels like comfort.

“It’s nothing special,” Soonyoung says, crossing his arms. Because it’s not. A handful of confectionery ovens, two sinks, a walk-in fridge next to a walk-in freezer. There’s no magic hidden from the view of the regular customers, just good old fashion baking.

“You make it special,” Wonwoo says. He says it so quiet, soft in it’s truth, and Soonyoung’s heart lurches into his throat with fondness.

Soonyoung blushes red. “Stop it,” he mumbles.

And, okay, maybe a few inappropriate things happen in Soonyoung’s kitchen. Maybe Wonwoo pushes Soonyoung against one of his counters and accidentally gets frosting all over one of his hands. Maybe Soonyoung licks it off of him, licks into Wonwoo’s mouth, all sweet and warm, licks across his jaw the same way.

Maybe the cinnamon rolls burn, maybe Soonyoung and Wonwoo both end up with frosting in places where you should never get frosting.

If the health department ever shows up asking about it Soonyoung will tell them they can’t prove anything.

 

 

 

Wonwoo lives in a tiny studio apartment a fifteen minute walk from _Toast & Jam_. He invites Soonyoung over after close one night and they cuddle with socked feet and loose sweaters. Soonyoung nose buried into the curve of Wonwoo’s neck while Wonwoo scribbles in his notebook. A new notebook.

“When you’re done writing,” Soonyoung hums, a little sleepy and very content and warm, “will you let me read it?”

“You can go into a bookshop, can’t you?” Wonwoo replies, voice sly.

Soonyoung scoffs. He fingers dig into the fabric of Wonwoo’s sweater where it bunches up at his elbows, an effort to get any little bit closer than he already is. “Not what I mean, silly,” Soonyoung mumbles, “I mean, before you publish it.”

Wonwoo goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says, “I don’t usually show those things to anyone but my publisher.”

Soonyoung pouts out of view of Wonwoo, hides the disappointment in his voice. “That’s okay,” Soonyoung’s voice is low, “I understand.”

 

 

 

Wonwoo dips his finger into the frosting on a piece of cheese cake and sucks it off. “We should go on a date,” he says, plucking the strawberry off of the cake now, biting off the very tip.

Soonyoung is very delicately folding his egg substitutes for macarons. This is the kind of thing that he has to get just right and here Wonwoo is, being distracting.

To be fair, Soonyoung finds it hard to not be distracted by Wonwoo even when he’s not doing anything.

“What do you mean?” Soonyoung asks, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, face folded into tight concentration. “We see each other every day.”

It’s true. Wonwoo always visits. Sometimes he brings work, sometimes he reads by the window. On special occasions Soonyoung will invite him to the kitchen to work the mixer and then lick the beaters clean. Soonyoung doesn’t mind the company. He relishes it, honestly. There are days where Wonwoo will show up, quietly and without Soonyoung noticing, and when Soonyoung finds him in the dining room, smiling when he meets Soonyoung’s eyes, it always makes his heart give a jolt and his stomach get a little wobbly.

Soonyoung sets down his finished ‘eggs’ and goes back to his dry ingredients. Wonwoo watches from close by, their shoulders almost touching.

“I know that,” Wonwoo replies. He proffers the strawberry to Soonyoung, who takes a bite of it while it still sits in between Wonwoo’s fingers. His bottom lip catches Wonwoo’s thumb, just a little. “Me sitting in your dining room and bothering you isn’t a date, though.”

“You don’t bother me,” Soonyoung insists. He creases his brow in thought, then asks, “what did you have in mind?”

Wonwoo shrugs. He pops the remnants of the strawberry into his mouth. “Something fun,” he says, swiping up more frosting onto his finger and offers it to Soonyoung next. Soonyoung pauses measuring out almond flour to suck Wonwoo’s finger into his mouth.

All this stuff is so quietly intimate. It suits them well. In the bakery, hidden inside the kitchen, they are only the things they are too each other. Wonwoo is not a struggling writer, Soonyoung is not the young baker people don't quite take seriously, neither of them are afraid of failure. They are only the good parts they see in each other. Dates are a little more obvious, open to the rest of the world. It’s not that Soonyoung doesn’t want it, more just a little ball of nerves nudging at the base of his skull. But if Wonwoo wants to do it - well, Soonyoung wants to do it.

 

 

 

Wonwoo insists on planning the whole thing.

“I want to surprise you,” he tells Soonyoung.

Soonyoung smiles and kisses the tip of Wonwoo’s nose. “Just remember I’m vegan,” Soonyoung reminds him.

“You think I’d forget?” Wonwoo says incredulously. Then he gestures to Soonyoung’s apron. Today, in a font made to look like intertwined vines, it says _Vegan Power!_

They go to this vegan comfort food place that just opened up. Wonwoo orders them a huge serving of mac and cheese and pizza overflowing with dairy-free cheese, basil and artichokes. He orders a bottle of wine and when it arrives pours Soonyoung’s glass full for him. Soonyoung giggles when Wonwoo finishes, gripping them stem of his glass and taking a sip. “I don’t know much about wine,” Soonyoung admits, “but this is good.”

They drink wine and feed each other moutfuls of ooey-gooey pizza and pasta and, somehow, even after Soonyoung feels like he’s about to burst, he eats half of the soy Neapolitan ice cream Wonwoo gets them.

“I was gonna get a cake, or something,” Wonwoo says. He scoops ice cream into his mouth, spiling a little down his chin on the way there. “But I knew it wouldn’t be as good as anything you make.”

“Awe,” Soonyoung coos. He wipes the ice cream off Wonwoo’s chin with his napkin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Wonwoo replies. The low pitch of his voice makes Soonyoung’s cheeks colour, just a little dusting of pink. Probably unnoticeable in the dim light of the restaurant.

To everyone but Wonwoo, at least.

 

 

 

After they’ve both nearly eaten themselves to death, Wonwoo walks hand in hand with Soonyoung back to his apartment.

They kiss about halfway there, when the streetlights start to dim a little as they draw further and further away from the centre of the city. Wonwoo’s mouth is warm, rich with the taste of wine, and still underlined with sweetness. Soonyoung melts into him.

“You know,” Wonwoo whispers, his breath fanning out across Soonyoung’s face. They stand so close together they breathe each other with every inhale. “I wanted to be with you from the moment I saw you,”

“What?” Soonyoung nearly squawks.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says around a laugh. He winds an arm around Soonyoung’s waist and pulls him closer, just a little, because a little closer is as close as Soonyoung can possibly get. Unless he’s about to fit himself so snuggly to Wonwoo they become one entity. Which would be romantic, maybe, but mostly scary and definitely inconvenient. “I saw you in that bakery that morning, the first morning, and you told me all about how special your coffee was. And, okay, I’ll be honest - I did not understand a single thing you told me.”

“Organic and fair-trade,” Soonyoung mimics his past self, “it’s means -”

“I know what it means,” Wonwoo cuts him off, nudging his nose against Soonyoung’s. “Point is, I saw you and I thought - wow, this guy, he might be worth waking up earlier for.”

“So I made you a morning person?” Soonyoung teases. He pokes Wonwoo’s sternum, faux-accusatory, face split into a wide smile that betrays Soonyoung’s acting.

Wonwoo shrugs, “sure, I guess. That and -” Wonwoo pauses. He bites his lip and Soonyoung feels Wonwoo grip his hip before he finishes. “Happy, you made me a happier person too.”

Soonyoung kisses him for that. A deep, long kiss. Wonwoo tastes the same and Soonyoung looses himself in the comfort of the familiar and the excitement at how it still feels new. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, kissing in the dim lights of the sparse street lamps, but it feels like forever and also like it ends too soon.

“Are you open tomorrow?” Wonwoo asks. His voice sounds like it’s been pulled over sandpaper, rough in a way that Soonyoung can feel against his skin, raising goosebumps and making him itch from the inside out.

“Yes,” Soonyoung replies. He looks up at Wonwoo through his eyelashes, then says, “but I can open late.”

Sure is nice to make your own hours.

 

 

 

In the light of Wonwoo’s apartment Soonyoung can see that his mouth is stained red. It feels so oddly passionate and deep and romantic and - a lot of things. Soonyoung doesn’t know how to describe it. Wonwoo would do it much better. He's a writer. It's is job to know how to say things. Soonyoung makes cakes.

Wonwoo leaves no marks behind when he kisses Soonyoung’s jaw, neck, exposed collarbone, but Soonyoung imagines the red of his mouth leaving a trail from Soonyoung’s own mouth to his heart.

“Oh,” Soonyoung breathes, half at the thought and half at the way Wonwoo’s teeth graze against the skin of his upper chest.

They’ve had sex before (at the bakery) (Soonyoung’s never burnt things regularly before Wonwoo started coming around) (that’s embarrassing) but tonight something feels different. The air is charged with static electricity, born from a source Soonyoung can’t quite pin point. His first guess would be the friction of Wonwoo’s body against his own, but it’s something beyond that. Something Soonyoung can’t grasp in a way that would help him understand it. He tilts his head back and lets it happen anyways.

They find the bedroom, with Wonwoo’s bed unmade and his dark black out curtains still open wide from when he woke up that morning. Wonwoo presses Soonyoung down into the soft mattress and pushes his shirt up around his ribs, exposing his stomach but leaving his pectorals covered.

He mouths at Soonyoung’s stomach - soft and undefined from pastries and cakes and cookies, but if Wonwoo minds he doesn’t say anything. He nuzzles against the spot just above Soonyoung’s belly button, kisses just below it.

Soonyoung lets the heat of Wonwoo’s touch and Wonwoo’s mouth and Wonwoo’s presence engulf him, gone soft and pliable from the inside out.

Afterwards, Wonwoo pushes his nose against the plush curve of Soonyoung’s cheek and breathes slow. They are sweat slick and sticky but neither of them feel much like moving. Wonwoo puts his arm around Soonyoung’s waist again, squeezes his hip bone.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Wonwoo whispers.

Soonyoung’s not sure if he’s meant to hear it. Wonwoo says it so quietly, so hushed with the words half-formed, but his mouth is so close to Soonyoung’s ear. So he means for Soonyoung to hear it, maybe, but maybe he doesn’t realize that Soonyoung will.

Soonyoung wouldn’t wonder if the words didn’t feel - didn’t feel. Feel like the static charge in the room earlier has sparked and become something much more tangible and destructive in the process. It’s not just the words, the way Wonwoo says them, the way he uses _what I’ll do_ like it’s an inevitability. It’s partly that but it’s also the tone of Wonwoo’s voice, the tremor juxtapositioned versus the undeniable truth he puts into the words. It feels like the heaviest book Wonwoo's found laid onto Soonyoung’s chest. And Soonyoung can read the title, see the cover, but he doesn’t know what it’s about. And he’s trying not to judge it, but he can already tell he won’t like it.

And it’s crushing him.

 

 

 

Soonyoung wakes the next morning, before Wonwoo, and decides to make breakfast.

Wonwoo’s house doesn’t accommodate for Soonyoung’s dietary needs, so he settles on toast and jam for himself after checking the ingredients list just to be sure. For Wonwoo he makes fluffy pancakes and he cuts up fruit and brews coffee. He’s debating slicing up potatoes and frying them up with vegetables when Wonwoo pads, barefoot and as sleepy as the day Soonyoung met him, out of the bedroom.

“Hey,” Soonyoung breathes, stomach kind of twisted up tight. He’s trying to forget the way he felt when he fell asleep last night. 

“Is this all for me?” Wonwoo asks, voice dripping and deep with the remnants of sleep.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung replies.

Wonwoo steps closer to examine the food Soonyoung has prepared. He snags a still warm pancake from the top of the pile Soonyoung has made and takes a bite out of it. Soonyoung scrunches up his nose, opens his mouth to comment on how Wonwoo’s a barbarian, but Wonwoo kisses the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth and keeps him quiet.

For the rest of the morning, Soonyoung decides, he won’t let himself notice to sad edge to every one of Wonwoo’s smiles.

When Soonyoung says, “I should go open,” quietly, around the edge of a mug of coffee, Wonwoo offers him a distracted grunt in reply. His whole brain seems elsewhere even when Soonyoung kisses his cheek, right near the shell of his ear, and even when he calls goodbye just before Soonyoung closes his door.

Soonyoung decides to ignore all that too.

 

 

 

At first, Soonyoung will blame his own ignorance. His own hopefullness, his insistance to always approach situations from the brightest side. He will blame his natural disposition to give people the benefit of the doubt, and how he gave Wonwoo the benefit of his.

All in all, at first, Soonyoung will blame himself.

He’ll blame himself when Wonwoo doesn’t show up at the bakery later that day. He’s tired, Soonyoung will rationalize, and they’ve already seen each other today. The next day, Soonyoung will think to himself - it’s okay. We don’t have to be together every day. The next day, and the next day, and the next, Soonyoung will make up any excuse he can think of for Wonwoo.

It’s a full week later, a whole seven days, before it sets in. Soonyoung is icing cupcakes, strawberry frosting decorated with red sprinkles, and he thinks of Wonwoo feeding him a strawberry from his fingers, and his chest gets that familiar feeling of being crushed.

_Oh,_ Soonyoung thinks, _this is it, isn’t it?_

 

 

 

It turns out, Soonyoung will not allow himself to be convinced that this is it. That they’re done. That he and Wonwoo imploded in on each other under the press of their future and the threat of failure.

The threat of failure. Isn’t that always getting Soonyoung into trouble?

 

 

 

Soonyoung does not know what possesses him to do it but on his lunch break one day he ducks into the used book store across the street from _Toast & Jam_. Among the aisles, sorted alphabetically by author, he finds Wonwoo’s first book.

It’s a fiction piece, a collection of short stories. On the back Soonyoung finds Wonwoo’s author portrait. He’s in a soft cream sweater, brow set above his eyes. It’s black and white, lighter on the right side of Wonwoo’s face where there must be a lamp shining on him. The whole thing reminds Soonyoung of the night in Wonwoo’s tiny apartment, on the couch, in soft clothes while they exchanged soft touches and they - they knew each other. Or at least they had convinced themselves they did. Or - whatever it was. Soonyoung doesn’t know.

It breaks his heart to buy the book.

Soonyoung does it anyway.

Soonyoung and Wonwoo were, _are_ \- Soonyoung’s not sure how to put it. They were unexpected and fast and kind of diving into all this head first. But with blindfolds on. And they had to grope around the room blindly trying to figure each other out. And because of that Soonyoung feels like he never realized Wonwoo would be something he would miss until he was already missing him.

Boy, does Soonyoung miss him.

The bakery has always been Soonyoung’s second home. The most comfortable place for him in the world. He knows everything there, and how it all works, and everything about it is familiar and constant. Somehow, in all awful way, Wonwoo wormed his way into those familiar and constant things. Soonyoung doesn’t catch the edges of Wonwoo’s shadow reflected across the floor from his spot at one of the tables. He doesn’t feed him the discarded, ugly, but still edible bits of pastry that he’s messed up. He doesn’t kiss the frosting from Wonwoo’s mouth and make him laugh.

Soonyoung’s bakery is built on brightness - colours and sunlight and disposition - and a cloud has rolled in and dampened all of it.

Soonyoung returns home exhausted, weighted down, at a loss for what to do.

He opens his text message thread with Wonwoo.

to: Wonwoo  
_bought your book today. started reading it, it’s good._

Soonyoung gnaws his lip as he watches the text send. Then he sends another.

to: Wonwoo  
_miss you._

Soonyoung falls asleep with his hands cradling his phone, cheek pressed to it so the vibrations will wake him.

He sleeps through the night.

 

 

 

On Wednesday a short boy with round glasses comes into _Toast & Jam_.

Soonyoung watches him quietly examine the menu, before his eyes fix on Soonyoung standing behind the counter. “Are you Soonyoung?”

“Erm,” Soonyoung rubs his palms against his apron ( _I Got 99 Problems But Protein Ain’t One_ ) nervously. “That’s me.”

The tiny boy approaches the counter. “I’m Jihoon,” he introduces himself, “I’m Wonwoo’s publisher.”

Soonyoung’s heart drops a little at the mention of Wonwoo’s name. He ignores it. He instead focuses on how Jihoon looks nothing like how Soonyoung expected. Wonwoo had always spoken of him in a way that made Soonyoung think he was older, taller, larger. Turns out his no nonsense demeanor was only enhanced by how little it seemed to suit his physical features.

“Wonwoo’s not here,” Soonyoung says quickly. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “I mean - if you were looking for him.”

“I’m not,” Jihoon replies. He eyes Soonyoung’s display case, before he pokes a finger against the glass in front of the blueberry muffins. “Wonwoo said these were good, can I have one?”

Soonyoung nods, collecting the muffin and Jihoon’s money in exchange. Jihoon stands, still at the front counter, rips off a piece of muffin and pops it into his mouth.

“I was looking for you,” Jihoon finally continues, licking his lips free of muffin crumbs. “I wanted to talk.”

Soonyoung swallows. This whole situation - Wonwoo’s disapperance seemingly into thin air, his publisher who Soonyoung has never met showing up to talk to him - it all seems so overly, uneccesarily dramatic. And Soonyoung doesn’t understand any of it.

“Okay,” Soonyoung says nervously, “you found me?”

“Wonwoo comes here a lot, right?” Soonyoung nods, “and you two are - you’re - how do I say this without overstepping?”

“Oh, um,” Soonyoung bites his lip, “we’re dating.”

“You’re dating,” Jihoon repeats the words, almost robotically. The way he looks at Soonyoung - Soonyoung can’t quite place it. “Which means I should tell you some things.”

“What . . . kind of things?”

“Things about Wonwoo,” Jihoon elaborates.

Soonyoung isn’t sure what to expect. What’s the worst case scenario? Listen, Wonwoo really liked you, but it wasn’t serious. Look, Wonwoo wasn’t sure how to let you down easy. Here, this is the thing you said that upset him. No, he doesn’t want to talk to you. Sorry, Wonwoo should have told you he already had a boyfriend.

All these options are pretty awful, some more than others, but Jihoon chooses none of them.

“He’s writing,” Jihoon says instead, “he’s at home, writing. That’s it.”

Relief washes over Soonyoung like a white-capped wave and when it crashes and pulls back he’s left with frustration, tinged with anger. That’s all Wonwoo is ignoring him for? That can’t -

“I don’t understand,” Soonyoung mumbles lamely. He wishes he had something to do with his hands. Whenever he and Wonwoo would talk about more serious things they’d be in the kitchen, Soonyoung could be kneading dough or decoration cupcakes or mixing dry and wet ingredients together. Here, behind the front counter, he has none of that.

“Look, every writer has their quirks, their methods,” Jihoon explains, gesturing with his hands, “I’ve known enough of them to notice. Wonwoo - when Wonwoo wrote his first book he locked himself in a room for a month to finish it. That’s just how he does it.”

“A month?” Soonyoung says, mostly to himself.

“Maybe it’s kind of my fault,” Jihoon fiddles with his glasses, “I gave him a deadline. But the publishing house was going to drop him if I didn’t. He hasn’t finished anything in four years.”

“A month,” Soonyoung repeats, louder this time. “He’s not going to talk to me for a month?”

Jihoon shrugs, “that was just the first time. It could be shorter this time around. Or longer.”

Soonyoung doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make it a month. Surely all of this will dissolve if it goes on any longer. “Okay,” Soonyoung replies, head pouding and hands wrung together. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted you to know where he was,” Jihoon - for all Wonwoo has told Soonyoung about him - says it softly, as comforting you can be for someone you don’t know. “And I wanted to tell you - I wanted to tell you that when he comes back, because he will come back, you don’t have to forgive him.”

 

 

 

Wonwoo is gone for two weeks before Soonyoung sees him again. It may not be a month, but it’s long all the same.

Soonyoung is rolling bread dough when Wonwoo appears in the kitchen door way. He’s wearing a striped shirt, fitted dark washed jeans. He looks exactly the same he did three weeks ago - only, different. Lighter.

Soonyoung stills when he spots Wonwoo, hands dropping from his dough. They stand in each other’s presence for some time, neither of them speaking. Neither of them wanting to break the illusion that nothing is different.

“I’m angry with you,” Soonyoung finally breaks it, pulling the words out of his throat and presenting them to Wonwoo.

“You should be,” Wonwoo replies. He sounds sad and resigned. Soonyoung wants to take it back immediately. But that would be a lie - he is angry.

“Why did you just disappear?” Soonyoung asks.

Wonwoo takes two steps into the kitchen. “Jihoon said he was here,” he says instead of answering Soonyoung’s question, “was he?”

Soonyoung nods. “He came by,” he says, “had a muffin, told me about where you were.”

Wonwoo snorts. “It’s not - it’s not that serious. I just -”

“He told me I didn’t have to forgive you for ignoring me for three weeks.” He cuts Wonwoo off. Wonwoo’s face falls, mouth turned down wards, an ugly shape to his frown. “I thought you decided to hate me all of a sudden.” Soonyoung laments the shake in his voice. He’s supposed to be angry, not sad. But turns out he’s hurt, and hurt sort of sits between the two.

“I could never hate you,” Wonwoo’s voice when he says is this: open, raw, unfiltered. It’s the barest form of the truth he knows how to say and something about it makes Soonyoung’s spine quiver. “I didn’t want you to think that.”

That’s the problem: intent never really matters in these kind of things. What you meant to happen and what did happen don’t always line up. And it’s always your fault.

“I’m mad at you,” Soonyoung repeats. His voice shakes on the last word. “But I missed you,” he confesses.

Wonwoo’s smile is sad when he says, “I missed you too.”

They stand in silence again after that, relearning the curves of each other’s faces and bodies with their eyes, remembering how to be in the same place at the same time. Soonyoung realizes Wonwoo look less sleepy, his skin a warm-toned darker shade and healthy looking. It breaks off a piece of his anger and dissipates it, the way running water chips away at the rocks on a river’s floor.

“I finished my book,” Wonwoo finally speaks, pulling something out the bag slung over his shoulder. It’s a thick stack of papers - a manuscript, a story not yet bound into a book.

“That’s good,” Soonyoung replies. Because despite everything, regardless of all of it, he can’t help but be proud. Soonyoung scrubs away the tears in the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I want to show you something.”

Wonwoo flips two pages over, folding them to press against the back of the stack, before he hands the whole thing over to Soonyoung. Soonyoung rubs his hands on his apron, a vain attempt to clean them, before he grabs it from Wonwoo.

There is just two lines of text in the middle of the page. When Soonyoung reads them his heart stutters, stops and restarts.

_For Soonyoung,_ it reads, _who taught me that your dreams are worth the risk of failure._

 

 

 

They rebuild themselves.

It’s brick by brick, a little slow by their standards, but Soonyoung is a baker. He knows that the sweetest things take time and care.

Half a year after Wonwoo reappears in Soonyoung’s life his book is released. Wonwoo invites Soonyoung to the launch party as his plus one. Soonyoung wears beige dress pants and a button down tucked into them, Wonwoo’s outfit much of the same, except darker and paired with a suit jacket.

Jihoon hands them two flutes of champagne, already half-buzzed himself.

“Soonyoung,” Jihoon says, clapping Soonyoung on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy. If you ever wanna publish a cook book?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow and points at his own chest with his thumb, “I’m your guy.”

Soonyoung and Wonwoo laugh, before Jihoon flutters off to mingle. Because he’s still Wonwoo’s publisher, and they might be celebrating, but he’s still kind of working.

Wonwoo kisses Soonyoung, then, and Soonyoung smiles against his mouth.

“Congratulations,” Soonyoung says, leaning into the arm Wonwoo has around his waist. “One question, though,” Wonwoo raises his eyebrow, Soonyoung says, “are you going to lock yourself up at home every time you have to write a new book?”

It’s a healing bruise, still, but it's in it's last stages. When you've forgotten exactly how much it hurt and all it's done now is left your skin a little grey and yellow. Soonyoung’s tone is playful, too, and he’s smiling while he plucks a stray hair off of Wonwoo’s jacket.

“I know how we can solve this problem,” Wonwoo replies.

“How?”

“We get a home together.”

Soonyoung nearly stumbles backwards. To say he hadn’t been expecting that - that would be an understatement. For a second he thinks maybe Wonwoo is joking, but both his face and his tone object to that.

Soonyoung feels the warmth of Wonwoo around his waist, against his front, bites his lips and says -

“Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

( **EPILOGUE** )

 

“Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s voice crackles over the receiver of Wonwoo’s cellphone.

“Wonwoo,” Jihoon repeats. Wonwoo grunts into the phone, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The alarm clock on his bedside table blinks 11AM up at him from his peripheral. “Did I wake you?”

Wonwoo sighs, sinks back into his pillows and blinks up at his dark ceiling. The black out curtains he has are still pulled closed tight across his window, letting the barest slits of light in. “Yeah,”

“Hmm, I’m not going to apologize,” Jihoon hums, definitely the evil villain side of pleased about it. “You told me you’d have a manuscript for me in two months.”

“Shit, did I say that?” Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose, lying through his teeth. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“You did,” Jihoon replies, “come to the office, okay? We should talk. Bring coffee.”

Wonwoo sighs. “Bring coffee, okay.”

“There’s a bakery between your house and the offices,” Jihoon offers, “just get here by noon.”

“A bakery?”

“Yeah. I think it’s called like? Toast and Jam, or something.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> a reminder to everyone who read this: in the end, you will not be defined by your failures but your successes. failure is simply a precursor to success. hopefully you and these nerds both learned that.
> 
> follow me on twitter @eyemoies (eyemoles with a fake l)  
> go support lian on twitter too! @faketrbl


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